


The Ironworks' Newest Employee

by BlackJacketsandPens



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen, as general as i can make it though some headcanons slipped in, garlemald and its oligarchy can go suck a dick, im in ur ironworks doing ur job, set after 3.56 but mostly before/during 4.0, spoilers for all that included, things i did not expect: the best Tired-Of-Cid's-Shit bromance ever, things i expected: how nero got hired into the ironworks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-09
Updated: 2018-01-09
Packaged: 2019-03-02 15:45:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13321380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackJacketsandPens/pseuds/BlackJacketsandPens
Summary: How in all the seven hells did Nero get hired into the Ironworks, anyway? Well...someone had to run the business, and Cid certainly wasn't going to. The Deputy President had to take matters into her own hands. Again.(Set right after 3.56 and during-to-after 4.0)





	The Ironworks' Newest Employee

**Author's Note:**

> Look, I was rewatching that last Stormblood cutscene and first of all how did Nero meet Jessie/get hired, and second of all, the fact that Jessie is so genuinely openly gleeful about his presence is the most beautiful thing. Then this happened.
> 
> I think the two of them would make great friends. And hell, someone needs to run the Ironworks when Cid is being Cid.
> 
> I tried to keep it as general as possible, but my Nero muse is far too strong for me to not have slipped some headcanon in there. Enjoy!

Well, that had gone about as well as one could reasonably assume, Nero thought. At least...the primal was dealt with, Omega was back in stasis, and the forest wasn’t on fire. So a success all around, really. Good, that was good. He was almost tempted to rub it in Cid’s face -- see? He’d done exactly as promised, no maniacal laughter (okay, not _much_ ) or betrayals or anything particularly villainous. Hells, he’d even donated his beloved reaper to the cause, if briefly.

But... _almost_. Despite that temptation, he didn’t stick around to gloat. He didn’t even stick around to watch the aftermath. He wasn’t sure why, really, but he had watched the lot of them leave on the _Enterprise_ \-- for the eightieth time telling himself that Cid had likely only named it that because he’d had the damned name already, not for any sentimental reasons -- and turned right around to make his own way out of Carteneau.

And he’d thought he could walk into Cid’s life again with his usual charming grin and brilliant ideas -- alright, fine, less that and more onzes of sarcasm and arrogance -- and that the man would welcome him. Ha! A fool’s notion. Apparently his time in the Void and all his efforts to protect the clones paled in comparison to all their years as bitter enemies. As if it would be easy -- no, it was impossible. A fever dream.

Throwing away his resentment of the man had been easy, in retrospect -- facing a certain, slow death amid all your nightmares made flesh had a funny way of making some things seem less important than you’d made them out to be when you were half-mad with rage and grief and carrying a crate full of complexes bigger than Baelsar’s Wall. He didn’t hate Cid. He just hated what had ruined it for them -- hated what Cid had become in their years apart, hated the upbringing that had ground him down into such desperation for recognition and success...hells, away from it for so long, he’d come to the realization that he hated the Empire itself, for throwing him aside just because _he wasn’t Garlond_.

So far, Eorzea seemed much better equipped to appreciate him. Hells, he’d been allowed to stand around in the presence of the Alliance’s leaders and introduce himself, and he hadn’t been arrested! No one had really even batted an eye aside from some token threats by the sharp-tongued little girl and the Doman woman. He was even half certain that had he gone back with the others, they would have _thanked_ him. Him! A war criminal!

Yes, Eorzea seemed a far more suitable place for him than Garlemald.

Well, except for the small problem in that he had nowhere to go, no money to his name, and was far less likely to receive even a lukewarm welcome from total strangers. He had made do camping out in relatively abandoned and unused parts of Carteneau, avoiding the war games and trying not to be noticed if he borrowed supplies from the Company outposts, but..he certainly couldn’t do that forever. Nor did he want to. He could only live on canteens of water and dry army rations for so long, and even if the nightmares would let him sleep for more than a bell or three at a time he wouldn’t get any rest sleeping on the rocky ground here.

He had to do _something_ about it, but...there really weren’t all that many options. Especially since Cid had all but bitten his head off with every venomous word spat in his direction. And...well, he’d learned his lesson the hard way: he wasn’t about to go diving into any more Allagan ruins, especially on his own. Omega had been an exception -- as soul-achingly badly as he wanted to go to Azys Lla and raid the place for all it was worth...no. No more.

Allag had nearly killed him twice now. There was not going to be a third time, no matter how much passion he held for its history. He was not that much of a fool.

* * *

He made it about as far into Eorzea proper as Revenant’s Toll before he had to sit down -- he wasn’t an old man, not by far, but his endurance wasn’t what it used to be after all that time in the Void and after moons of eating and sleeping very little...well, here he was, sitting on one of the benches of the Toll and marvelling at how empty it was. When he’d been here during the investigation of the Tower, it had been teeming with adventurers -- it had been his first real taste of Eorzea, to be honest. The myriad citizens of Aldenard, adventurers all, running to and fro on whatever madcap scheme they had in mind that day. It had been...wholly jarring, to be honest, and a little frightening. To go from sequestered nearly at all times in his lab to being surrounded by all the races of Eorzea, some in the most _ridiculous_ outfits, loud and cheerful and so very much more alive than the steel and ceruleum he spent all his time with...well, it was a bit of a revelation.

Now it was hardly that -- there were maybe a dozen adventurers milling about, some up the hill at the market area and a few heading into the bar he sat near, and the rest were the usual residents, the grizzled veterans and the occasional orange-clothed St. Coinach’s researcher. He wondered where the rest had gotten off to. Somewhere farther inland, perhaps, a new hub for a new series of adventures? He’d heard something had happened north in Ishgard -- perhaps it was up there now, wherever the teeming mass had moved. It made him oddly sentimental, the emptiness.

“Hey! You!”

...And there went the quiet. He almost didn’t realize the voice was calling for him until his vision was taken up by a finger pointed square at his nose. “...Me?” He asked, trying not to go cross-eyed, and the finger abated, allowing him to see the tall Hyuran woman standing over him, her auburn hair in a ponytail and….wearing the Ironworks uniform. Oh.

“Yes, you,” the woman snapped, though she seemed less angry than simply in a constant state of vaguely harried. “I know you. I’ve seen you around before, and besides, the chief’s given your description to basically all of us anyway. You’re Nero.”

He couldn’t help it -- he laughed. The woman’s brows knit, and he hurried to reassure her, smirk still tugging at his lips. “Nothing personal,” he told her. “Just-- gods, that’s just like him, isn’t it? Did he warn you about me? Don’t let this man anywhere near anything remotely resembling magitek? He’ll start cackling maniacally and petting it, or what have you? He’s a menace to upstanding engineers everywhere?” He couldn’t help but let a little bitterness creep in, and he saw her eyebrows rise even as her lips twitched in amusement.

“No,” she said. “Alright, well, maybe the first one. Or two. He might have mentioned the laughter.” She snorted. “But mostly he said that you were one of the best minds left in Garlemald, you had cut ties with the Empire, and you were bound and determined to get into as much trouble here as you possibly could. And yes, don’t let him near magitek or he’ll start calling it _his pretty_.” She crossed her arms. “And us personal assistants to the great Cid Garlond knew about you beyond that, anyway. He rarely shut up about you, you know. We all knew the name Nero Scaeva long before you turned up in the XIVth.”

...Well, that stunned him speechless. “You...did?” He asked, bewildered, and she seemed to look somewhat more amused at that, too, sitting down next to him.

“Aye, we did,” she agreed. “On and on about how you two were at the Academy together, how brilliant you were, how absolutely insufferable you were...I know Biggs and Wedge pretty much assumed you two never got on -- I think they have this entire dramatic tale in their heads about fated rivals or something equally silly.” She laughed and leaned back. “Me? I know the sound of a friendship gone sour when I hear it. I won’t ask what happened, because frankly I don’t care, but you two clearly have quite the history.”

It took a moment for all that to sink in -- Cid talked about him? _That much?_ \-- before he blinked, shook his head, and tried not to look too gobsmacked or flattered (or both). “Alright, what do you want from me?” He said finally, raising an eyebrow. “Because I doubt you came over here to tell me all the delightful things Garlond has or hasn’t said about me.”

Jessie laughed. “Caught me,” she said unrepentantly. “This is most certainly a business conversation, but I have a question, first -- what brings you back to the Toll? In fact, what are you up to in general? You can’t have been sitting around watching grass grow the past year or so since the spectacularly pointless jaunt into the Tower ended.”

Nero had to wonder at her description of the expedition, but set it aside and shrugged. “As you’ll no doubt hear in the next day or two, there was a bit of a primal problem in the vicinity of Gridania, and I volunteered my considerable expertise in Allagan technology to the ends of stopping it -- namely, activating Omega beneath Carteneau and then putting it back in stasis after it deal with the aforementioned problem.”

“Omega?” Jessie asked, visibly impressed. “And here I was thinking that thing was just a showpiece buried beneath a playground for the Grand Companies. Then again, you did fix up Ultima, so I suppose I shouldn’t doubt that expertise of yours.” There was something calculating in her eyes, Nero noticed, and he wondered briefly what in the world he was getting himself into. “In any case, makes enough sense. And you ended up here on your way out...any reason in particular why you didn’t head back with the chief?”

“Didn’t feel welcome,” Nero said, startled at how curt the reply sounded. “And besides, he’s the one who’ll get all the accolades for it anyway. Didn’t see the need in staying to listen to that.”

Jessie nodded, and then leaned back to cross her arms. “Well, if you don’t want to see Cid, then you’re in the right place,” she said, and that harried, irritated tone returned to her voice. “The last place you’ll ever find him is _actually doing his bloody job_.” She rolled her eyes. “I understand why he created the Ironworks -- I’ve heard the spiel about Freedom Through Technology dozens of times, and it was mostly my work in putting together the safety net for Imperial defectors in the first place, but…” She sighed. “Man forgets the thing is a business above all, and follows the Warriors of Light around like a puppy.”

Nero couldn’t manage to cover his mouth in time, and barked out a laugh. “He does?” He asked. “Bloody hells, sounds like him. Or at least the man I’ve come to know here in Eorzea -- certainly wasn’t like that before he left.” He tried not to sound rueful. “Running around trying to put right every wrong technology’s ever done and then some, always off on some fool crusade thinking he’s a hero and forgetting that above all he’s a bloody _scientist_. Can’t imagine what you have to deal w--” He stopped, turning to her fully. “Wait, wait-- he’s not even running his own damned Ironworks?! The hells does he think-- who _is,_ then?!”

Jessie raised her hand, her expression dryer than all of Thanalan. “That would be me,” she said, deadpan. “Jessie Jaye, Deputy President of the Garlond Ironworks -- and all but Acting President as well, given how often the chief actually chips in -- at your service.”

“Bloody hells,” Nero managed. “I always knew the daft bastard had no head for business, but-- does he even actually look at the ledgers, or is that your job, too?”

“Mine,” Jessie said with a snort. “It takes everything I’ve got to keep us out of the red when he barely contributes -- at least Biggs’ little mammets and wind-up toys and Wedge’s crazy personal airships are selling well, but…” She threw her hands up. “Gods forbid the founder of the place should actually make something marketable!”

Nero laughed. “Your mouth to your gods’ ears,” he said with a shake of his head. “Cid’s stubborn as a teloceras -- you’d have to tie him down to get him to even listen, let alone obey, and--” He stopped. “Alright, what do you want me to do about him?”

Jessie grinned wide. “Busted,” she said. “I mean, you know him better than any of us, right? You’d be the perfect person to whip him into shape -- and if he refuses to be whipped into shape, then hells, you can just do his job for him.”

Nero blinked at that. And then blinked again. And then laughed. “Are you trying to hire me, Miss Jaye?” He asked, still visibly amused. “I’m flattered, truly, but…” The amusement faded, and he couldn’t quite keep the rueful bitterness out of his voice. “Going by what he said to me today, I think he’d rather never see me again. He’d never let you actually give me a job.”

Jessie stared at him a moment, and he could have sworn he saw a spark of something like sympathy in her eyes -- that or a sort of annoyance not directed at him. “Well, it’s a good thing that as Deputy President, all new hires go through _me_ , not him,” she said flatly. “So quite frankly, if I want to hire you, he has no say in the matter.”

“...You’re serious,” Nero said after a moment, realizing her expression wasn’t changing. “You actually want to give me a job? With the Ironworks? You _do_ know who you’d be hiring, right?” A war criminal, a former tribunus, the man who had restored van Baelsar’s superweapon.

“The most brilliant engineer in Garlemald after the chief himself, a consummate expert in Allagan technology, and the man who restored not one, but _two_ ancient Allagan artifacts no one else would even dream of trying to fix?” Jessie asked. “The man who -- correct me if I’m wrong, but I _did_ grow up in the capital and I _did_ hear things -- was offered at least a half dozen tenured research positions in Garlemald upon his graduation from the Academy?”

“How--” Nero began, but trailed off. He’d...never heard it put quite that way. Never heard anyone brandish his accomplishments about like that, like they _mattered_. Never been...never been wanted for anything else besides a replacement for Cid-- he frowned. “This is beginning to sound a little like you’re buttering me up only to use me as a replacement for your wayward chief,” he said sharply, eyes narrowing. “If you know me at all, you should know I don’t take well to being in Garlond’s shadow.”

Jessie met his gaze unflinchingly. “Is that how you see it?” She asked. “Granted, that’s perfectly valid, and I’m sure it was meant that way back in Garlemald -- trust me, I know how their oligarchy works just as well as you -- but not here. If I want you to take over the chief’s duties, it doesn’t mean I’m _settling_ for you, Nero tol Scaeva. It means that you’re the only person I know who even begins to qualify for the job. It means that your talent surpasses literally everyone else in the Ironworks, so I have to come looking for you in person to get you on our team, because quite frankly I might have to fight off competitors with my bare hands -- and I would, too. Don’t doubt that.” She grinned at him. “And hells, maybe the thought of you stealing his job will get him off his arse, and then we’ll have _two_ world class engineers at the head of the business!”

Nero stared at her for a long moment, at a loss for words. She’s right, he thought distantly. Garlemald was an oligarchy to the core. Why else would Gaius be known for taking in misfits? Why else would Gaius have been mocked for his choice of officers -- a war orphan, a boy from the most rural edge of Garlemald, and a Roegadyn? Why else would naught matter of _skill_ to them, when all they were looking for was a name and a heritage? It was all he had ever known.

All his life spent in the shadow of the rural town where he grew up, the shadow of the people who had chipped him down into someone so desperate for acknowledgement and recognition, and then in the shadow of the man who had been his best friend, the man who had been his equal -- separated from him by malms thanks only to their different births. He’d entertained the thought that Eorzea would be better for him, but it had been half in jest. Now, though…

His hand was outstretched before he even realized it, and whatever the look on his face is, it made Jessie grin widely. “Well, that settles that, then!” She said brightly, taking his hand in hers and shaking it firmly. “Welcome to the Ironworks, Nero!” She stood, nodding towards one of the buildings. “Come on, we can work out the details inside. Get you a uniform, even.”

He laughed, standing to follow her. “Well, I might have some requests, then,” he told her as he followed. “Blue isn’t really my color…”

* * *

The next several bells were spent in animated discussion over his contract -- _contract!_ \-- and working out the finer details. Jessie had initially wanted to pay him every bit as much as Cid was getting, but Nero had refused that outright. Granted, that would be more than enough to let him live comfortably in Eorzea now that he was staying (now that he had a bloody job), but it didn’t feel right. He’d never had much money, didn’t grow up with much, and the thought of all those zeros made him a little queasy. Jessie was not to be deterred, though, insisted he was worth the cost, especially if he actually did the work, but he managed to get her down to four-fifths what Cid got. It was still ridiculous, but it felt like a small victory.

That was the only road bump, though, and by the end of the day the paperwork was all done and Nero tol Scaeva was officially the newest employee of Garlond Ironworks. Jessie arranged for a uniform (she’d even agreed, amused, on letting him have one in red), and then the two had sat down to go over the budgets and ledgers.

(It didn’t take ten minutes before Nero wanted to strangle Cid Garlond and his ridiculous penchant for heroics -- _how_ much was he spending on _what_ now, and _who the hells approved it?!_ No wonder Jessie seemed so frazzled half the time, she was like as not scrambling to clean up after all of Cid’s escapades!)

Thankfully, Nero had always had a head for figures -- growing up poor gave you quite a skill for budgeting -- and Jessie told him by the end of their work (the next day’s dawn creeping through the cracks in the door and windows) that not even the Twelve themselves would get her to fire him at this point. He appreciated the comment whether or not he believed in Eorzea’s gods.

In all honesty, he appreciated all of this, more than he could articulate. It was-- it was something he had no name for, to be needed for his own merits, to be useful for his own abilities, to be wanted for being _Nero_ , not for being the next best thing to Cid Garlond. It was an entirely new experience, but then...Eorzea was nothing if not a new experience, and the Empire felt more distant than ever.

Granted, he was still a bit wary of how the man himself would react to this, but given all he’d seen of Jessie so far, he wasn’t sure it would be as bad as he feared.

Maybe.

* * *

He wasn’t sure exactly how much time had passed -- he was more busy than ever at his new job, and it was the kind of busy that made him feel _fulfilled_. The kind of busy that had him in a workshop more often than not, helping Jessie with a half-dozen products she’d had to put on the backburner thanks to Cid and working tirelessly until he was falling asleep at his workbench, hands (and face, sometimes) covered in grease and oil and that sort of burning exhaustion behind his temples that meant he was putting his all into his work. The Hyur wasn’t too bad at the job herself, too, and even if she was no Cid he found himself almost _befriending_ her. Wasn’t that odd? He could hardly remember having a friend besides Cid -- there was Jenomis, of course, but he had been more _Cid’s_ friend than his -- and he had ever been too abrasive to make any, anyway. But Jessie gave as good as he did in that department, so...she became a friend.

When they weren’t running around like panicked dodos trying to get things done for the sundry clients that needed appeasing -- another thing Cid had apparently neglected to account for -- they were balancing and rebalancing the ledgers, and generally, as far as Jessie was concerned, running the entire damned Ironworks. It took Nero a little to get used to the idea of that, but it was almost hilarious. As boys in the Academy, he and Cid had always dreamed of creating a business like this, a workshop, theirs to be famous engineers known the world around -- and here was that dream. Here was that dream, and it wasn’t anything like either man imagined. Instead, it had become Nero running the whole show behind Cid’s back while the other gallivanted of doing gods knew what with his bloody hero complex.

Well, he was going to find out sooner or later. But in the meantime, at least he was keeping the man’s business afloat for him.

It was...some time later (moons?) when Jessie received a call from the people she had sent to Rhalgr’s Reach and the Ala Mhigan Resistance, on the tails of the news that Ala Mhigo itself had been liberated. Nero was still uncertain how to process that information, given how long the XIVth had occupied the city-state when Jessie dragged him off to the area, telling him about the aetheric readings they’d gotten and how it was like as not Omega.

Omega...oh, _bollocks_.

It didn’t take a genius to know that the guess was right, and staring down into the aptly named Yawn, filled with what looked like thick, viscous aether the color of things he’d rather be left forgotten...he _almost_ knew why Cid was such a martyr all the time. Mistakes were definitely made, and, well...unfortunately, they were probably the only ones qualified to fix it.

But no -- regardless of that, Cid was still being ridiculous. He’d overheard conversations Jessie had via linkpearl with the man, seen the things being sent out by his request, and as bad as Nero ever was with his habit of overwork, Cid was worse by several orders of magnitude. Making himself sick with guilt over things a scientist had no business being guilty about, tormenting himself with things he either had no power to change or no business being part of in the first place. It sounded as if he had forgotten the man he’d been in the Academy, the man who -- with Nero -- had wanted to tear the heavens themselves down to test the limits of their skills. That man was a memory, and all that remained was a martyr still living in the shadow of broken things he couldn’t repair.

It was _infuriating_.

“Nero!” Jessie called, startling him from his thoughts. “The chief’s on his way with Biggs and Wedge,” she told him, and then a light of mischief sparked in her eyes. “What do you say to giving him a well-earned scare, mm?”

Nero raised an eyebrow. “What do you have in mind?”

She grinned. “Well, mostly you just go hide behind those rocks and make a dramatic entrance when I tell him I hired you,” she said. “Details are at your discretion, of course, but I’m sure you’ve got that well in hand.”

He had to laugh. “Honestly, I would most likely have done that even if you hadn’t suggested it,” he told her. “I think it’s in that contract of yours -- I have to be as dramatic as possible, _especially_ if it involves giving Garlond a hard time.”

The two shared a conspiratorial grin, and Nero headed off to the rocks in question, fumbling with his tool belt before finding the pair of sunglasses he’d brought with him -- the sun in these parts had always been far too bright (and far too hot) for a man who’d grown up in a land that was frozen over nine-tenths of the year, and he’d wanted to be prepared this time. And he was, but...well, anyone watching adventurers for half the time he had knew that they were perfect for making an entrance.

Oh, he was going to have _fun_ with this.

* * *

And he did -- the look on Cid’s face was enough to make whole thing worthwhile.

Well...almost. Almost enough. Not quite enough to make up for the fighting, the arguing, the derision and the insults. Not quite enough to make up for the fact that he knew, without a doubt, that Cid did not want him around. Did not want him in his life at _all_ , let alone as a coworker, or comrade, or...friend.

Not quite, but they had other things to worry about. And if Cid hated him, then fine. The least he could do was save the frustrating bastard from his own martyrdom. (And maybe save the damned world, too, while he was at it.)


End file.
